Long Blouses Poems
Long Blouses Poems. Below are the most popular long Blouses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blouses poems by poem length and keyword.
LUCKY MAY
May, May is welcome
And by these roads, these lanes
Young people come to home
To sing to my sisters.
What pretty they are
With her golden hair
And coloured lassos
And my mother combing them
To disentangle it.
That is their faces
What face so bright¡
Their lips, what loveliness¡
Painted with lipsticks
Where the same Cupid
A Kiss plant.
Their eyes, waht pretty and lovely¡
As star lighting the same Sky.
Their snub noses
(I wish I could to have them¡)
Silver twists are
That none of the jeweller
Knows draw
Only mother Daniela
As their ivory teeth
And their two little bust
Behind their white blouses
As two early lemons
With a dress of virgin
With brads in its shorts
Straight to the point
Axle of dancing and music
Moving their nice legs
And their agile feet.
And Me, now, an injured angel
With all my features as seraph
Imploring to our mother
That she plays a May with me
Dressing me as my sisters
With Rosemary flowers
With legominous flowers
Puting in my hand
A palm of Sun and Moon
As my lovely sisters
Because I want to dress as a little girl
And don’t want to be more
The Little man of the home
In the Lucky May.
Dismal tale of men and women in the dirty rail compartment
No conception of the charm being knitted by the movement
Of the necklace of gentle light in the pants shirts and blouses
All is too occupied in their struggle to notice the kind crescent
As they are returning home from their respective workplaces
Piteous story of apathy and woe all of them are absorbed in
An old lady chewing parched rice taking it from a rusted tin
In a dark corner is seated a youth with shirt all bloodstained
Suffering from tuberculosis and looking very fragile and thin
A worthless life of empty existence still wretchedly retained
Though no threshold he will come across leading him to a
Plate of rice and curry as at least one square meal a day
A hawker of playthings approaches them in a smiling face
A second vendor selling some human figures made of clay
A gloomy motion picture of life running in an unfair race
10/07/2017
Rhyme Time with 5 Poetry Contest sponsored by Laura Loo
Using the five words viz Piteous Bloodstained Threshold
Conception and Dismal
I think something's lacking!
I travel from place A to B
And what do I see?
A lot of heat and dust
All greenery gone to rust
And cracked landscapes proudly brag
Of wrinkles on a wizened hag!
Yes! Something's definitely lacking!
Sweat-strewn foreheads glisten bright
Sticky shirts and blouses seem that much tight
The only wetness that one gets to see
Is the acrid ooze from you and me.
Again, I feel that something's lacking.
It is the voodoo in the air
A shimmering haze of heat despair.
Like zombies all are beasts and men
Looking skywards, asking "When?"
Oh yes, I know what's lacking -
It is the sweet rain-laden breeze
Which freshen's all and greens the trees
Which smooths the land, breathes life afresh
Oh! The blessed Rain to ease Summer's stress!
Form:
Mother was a genius when it came to recyclin' flowery flour sacks,
Durin' The Great Depression to provide duds for her family's backs!
With her trusty pedal Singer Sewin' Machine she turned out a horde,
Of decent apparel that we could ill afford from Montgomery-Ward!
In gym class I could usually find a locker behind which to cower,
So as not to reveal my drawers toutin' 'Gold Medal Self-Risin' Flour'!
The shirts she made sported gaudy prints of petunias and roses,
And various critters such as unicorns and monkeys in silly poses!
Sacks made fancy bloomers for sister that advertised 'Baker's Delight',
Plus tawdry dresses, blouses and skirts, but with her that was alright!
'Pillsbury's All-Purpose Flour' graced the back of shirts worn by Dad!
Others were more subdued when Mom found a sack of simple plaid!
I reckon city folks thought we country folk looked kinda weird and funny,
Paradin' around in altered flour sacks, but there wasn't very much money,
Left for fancy things after Pa bought shoes and put grub on the table!
But, with a wink and spare change, he treated us to ice cream when able!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Entry for Judy Konos' "Whatever Happened To Flour Sacks" Contest
I have inside my wardrobe many clothes
composed of dresses, blouses, slacks and tops,
and as the number of these items grows,
so does my footwear. Lord, it never stops!
I’m not too good at throwing stuff away
except for things from when I was size nine!
So I can change my outfits day to day.
I love variety. It is divine!
I match accessories and jewelry
with all my clothing with its many hues.
I think I’d suffer from anxiety
without a rather large supply of shoes!
If just two pairs of shoes were all I owned,
I’d somehow have to get them color-cloned!
Aug. 1, 2017 for the Two Pair of Shoes Contest of John Lawless
Orange floods the western skies
Blue the color of your eyes
Yellow bringing thoughts to mind
Of blouses and blankets, of dreams in kind
Of chairs for one that contain two
Of passions and pleasures I'll share with you
Of daydreams with hopes that one day will be
As real as the sunset I currently see
To hold you and kiss you, unabashed and unhid
To gaze on your beauty with sight so limpid
To erase the distance right now that's soooo far
To love and appreciate all who you are
A snowstorm a winter has not before seen
Come now my love and let us convene
The moment we've waited for soon will arrive
My long since gone springtime has now been revived
Politics is all about haves and have nots.
Who gets ahead. Who waits in line.
Privileged ones, and the rest get denied.
Politics is about relative truth.
Data be damned. Conspiracies claimed.
Favors for votes. Constituents maimed.
Politics is about what party plays.
Which party stays. What's your world view.
A main course of elephant, donkey fondue.
Politics is I’m right, or maybe you’re wrong.
Debates and train rides. Buses and airlines.
Things heard on open mics and dark dye on hairlines.
Politics is lighting, cameras, makeup aglow
It's who do you know, and if they'll debate.
It's speeches, fundraisers, babies and chicken plates.
Politics is white houses, state houses, stained blouses.
It's tourists with playlists, local, statewide or global.
Incriminating texts, on phones that are mobile.
Politics is Uncle Joe's jail time, Aunt Betty’s brew.
And a family’s deepest dark secrets,
That cause church splits in the name of Jesus.
Politics is vote counting, as valuable as blood.
It's the trust that weaves things together.
Transparent as mud, and stable as weather.
Politics makes life better and sometimes much worse.
In the end, Politics is people.
Often rotten to the core sometimes even lethal.
Twenty-one pairs of blue jeans
Teenage girls twirl and preen
A place to them forever dear
Grandma is parked on bench so near
This store pays rent in a high priced mall
Clothing prices are kind of steep and tall
Not the jazziest clothes I have seen
Frankly none of them to me are keen
Do not know where you have been
But these clothes are not a ten
Some of the blouses are way too sheer
Showing too much skin is totally clear.
Granddaughter tries on a pile of stuff
She looks adorable in jeans with cuff
The prices here are way out of line
But she thinks this stuff is real fine.
Why do children want to wear brand name?
Is being invisible their end game?
Fashion today makes my heart and eyes tear
Where is silk, satin and pretty cashmere?
I have come to a strange town
The streets have changed their names
The roads have given ways to gigantic flyovers
The bushes have given ways to codominiums and giant one-stop shopping centres
Few pedestrians on the roads
People are housed under the roofs
They are wearing masks, spectacles, shields and bulky suits
Like astronaunts in outer space
Boutiques replaced seamstresses
Many important posts are monopolied by women
Some men start to wear no-frame spectacles, colourful blouses and do baby-sitting
People said they have a hard time
Although wealth has shifted to this town
Because the prices of commodities are soaring high
Due to the lack of workers
It has been many years before I, a stranger arrived
I was just about eleven years old
When I got the most beautiful dress
I hung it on a wire hanger
Because the nail might have got it a mess
Each school year I received
A couple new pairs of jeans
Some Underwear and socks,
Along with a few other new things
I wore my brother’s shirts
Because blouses were kind of rare
But it was okay with me
I thought it really quite fair.
I slept in the attic
I shared with my brothers
We each had a bed
With wonderful homemade covers
So you can see why my dress
Meant so much to me
It was the only one I had,
Beautiful for all to see
Come next Sunday morning
I thought I would wear my dress.
With all these wonderful musings
I drifted off to sleep, I guess
I woke up the next morning
And gave out with a terrible scream
My beautiful dress was missing…
It had all just been a dream.
Connie Moore
May 16, 2013